With hands in the jacket pockets to escape

With hands in the jacket pockets to escape the autumn chill, I walked briskly to the dip in the road. No traffic this morning. Hardly ever is; only the Rosentraders and I live

in the cul-de-sac, and they were gone for the winter. The rest of us had defaulted or sold out under water once the recession hit. I picked up extra money watching their places

shoveling their driveways. It wasn't much but it came with the benefit of having keys to every house on the block. I know it's creepy, but sometimes I went into their bedrooms and

out my favourite Barry White LP. Man it felt good to sway around the lounge to the sweet sounds of Can't Get Enough Of Your Love, Babe

But when the Ludes and Xanax wore off I realized I was listening to the disco version of the Star Wars theme song. Worse, I was still 16 and grounded with my pants around my

waist, held up by hideous rainbow suspenders. It may have been my birthday, but said suspenders and the Meco album of Star Wars disco songs had to be the worst presents ever.

Well except for the Chanukkah when Uncle Rudy gave everyone in the family Snuggies. He forgot that Grandma had reupholstered the furniture with Velcro. Oh, the humanity,

oh, the human manatee. Hugh Manatee, a freak in the Pakapoos Vaudeville & Menagerie Extravaganza, had met Grandma way back, at Uncle Rudy's bar mitzvah. Velcro became their only

child. A human manatee with a full, glistening beard. One night of passion, one fanciful flight of carnival knowledge.